Conall, Wolf Strong
by Zyneth
Summary: Follow Conall through his 8th Year attending Hogwarts of America, and join him and his friends as they discover the significance behind his unique wand core in a journey that will leave them all forever changed. Immerse yourself in the detailed and comprehensive background that, though quite different, shares certain familiar characteristics with its counterpart in Great Britain.
1. Chapter 1

"By the time Columbus rediscovered the Americas, there was already a significant influence from European wizards, who had become aware of the continent by means of a few wizards among the Vikings that had landed in Canada at the turn of the first millennia AD.

"Unlike their muggle counterparts, the first large-scale wizarding expedition to the New World in the 1300's marked a proper merging of civilizations. The Europeans respected the Native Americans for their immense understanding of magic and their deep connection to the magic in the world around them. The Natives looked up to the Europeans for their varying innovations in wizardry. This positive cycle of mutual respect resulted in a merging of the two cultures. A school of magic was founded on the model of Hogwarts, with various alterations from the European model due to both setting and traditional American culture, as well as influence from the early Norse explorers from Scandinavia who had founded the nearby mountain village of Asbyorn. This combined heritage is what we see when we walk through the halls of Hogwarts of America today, when..."

"Ugh, I've heard this way too many times," Kevin moaned.

"And I've heard it more than you have," Conall replied with a grimace. It was the first school day of the year, and the students and staff were gathered in the Great Hall for orientation. Typically this speech was given on the night of arrival, but since both the American and the original Hogwarts had to share the sorting hat, changes needed to be made when there was a scheduling conflict. "I must admit," Conall continued, "I did enjoy learning all of this a few years ago. Well, the classes are shorter today. What d'you got first period?"

"Herbology with the Slytherins. Almost all my required courses are with Slytherin... Gonna have to get up early just to get to the greenhouse on time. Ah well, at least classes get out at lunch today; and Becca will be there. It's nice that there's at least one decent person in that house."

"She isn't the only one." They glanced at the Slytherin table across the great hall. "Although," Conall continued, "I do see your point." They both chuckled.

"What class you have first?" Kevin asked.

"Occlumency & Legilimency," Conall answered.

"Oh my sweet holy Thestral," Kevin exclaimed. "I haven't taken it before, but I imagine it's exhausting that early."

"Well, since the one class is for both levels one and two, as not many people signed up this year, Professor Mentalis will probably have me helping some of the younger kids for part of the time, since I've taken it before and all."

A half an hour later Conall was walking into the Occlumency & Legilimency (also known as OL) classroom, where Mr. Mentalis was marching some of the new fifth and sixth years back and forth, trying to decide where to seat them. He could be a bit eccentric at times, and his scraggly gray hair didn't exactly help to keep people from calling him "Mental Mentalis" behind his back. Once he got to the front of the room and drew his abnormally long wand of Silver Lime from the pocket of his robe, the subtle aura of his mystic wisdom silenced the chattering. It only took a few weeks in his class to know that he wasn't just some crazy old crackpot.

"We've only got twenty minutes today, so no wasting time. Conall, Diane, get up here and show the class what it looks like." Conall and Diane, the most experienced students in the class, made their way to the front of the classroom. Both fair skinned with brown hair, and both in their eighth year, they drew their wands. It seemed that everyone except for the teacher could sense the tension between the two Gryffindor prefects, though few knew its source. A couple of years ago they had gotten into a really bad argument, and though they had been quite good friends before then, they'd hardly spoken a word to each other since.

"Diane, your wand," the professor prompted. She held her wand out and he tapped it with his, saying, "Incantatum Revelio. Now the rest of the class can see what's going on." He ran over to his desk and said, "You know what to do. Focus on the summer before your first year. Don't block her out now, Conall. I have to go figure out the rest of these blasted seating arrangements."

Pointing her wand at him she shouted "Legilimens!"

* * *

_He held a letter in his hands. _"Dear Mr. Wade, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Magic in America."_ The scene shifted._

_He was talking to a great uncle that he hardly knew who was half Choctaw Indian. "It's been a couple generations since we had one in the family. I'm good as dead at this age, and I was afraid I wouldn't live to see the reemergence of that there wizard gene. You being one eighth blood and all is sure gonna help you too."_

_Now he was on a bus that was taking first year witches and wizards to the region's largest magical shopping center._

_He was trying out various wands, and though quite a few seemed to fit him, none seemed able to truly choose him. "Intriguing," said the girl working behind the counter, granddaughter of the great American wandmaker, Alivan. "Dogwood and pine, walnut and vine; they all seem to want to choose you, but none of them have. I've never seen anything like it. Try this one; it's fifteen inches, vine, with a hippogriff feather core..."_

_"It won't work," came a voice from somewhere amidst of the maze of ceiling-high stacks of wand boxes. An old man who looked like an Indian shaman appeared. He had long black hair with many feathers. Countless trinkets and amulets adorned his neck, arms, and ankles._

_"What do you mean?" the girl asked him. "Do you know what's going on?"_

_"It appears that he has already been claimed, and by a wand that he has never seen... something within this room." Both Conall and the girl were bewildered. "My ancestors tell of this happening, though it is a very unusual thing."_

_The man then drew his wand and, closing his eyes, he began to focus on something. For an agonizing minute no one said anything, but suddenly the man opened his eyes and vanished behind the pile of boxes. A moment later he reappeared with a box in hand. Without a word he handed it to the girl and stepped back to observe. She opened the box and gazed at the wand in surprise. After hesitating for a moment, she handed it to Conall._

_From the moment he touched it, everything in his life changed. He felt all of his senses heighten as a feeling of power rushed through him. This was it. This was the one._

* * *

He opened his eyes. Diane had her hand on her forehead like she was dizzy, and the class was staring at Conall's wand, the tip of which was glowing with a tiny golden light. "Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to block you out..."

"It's alright," Mr. Mentalis piped up cheerfully. "It seems there are some things that a wand just doesn't like to share." Conall couldn't help but to wonder if there was a grain of truth behind his words. The bell rang. "Excellent timing. See you all bright and early tomorrow. Come with your minds sharp."

As people filed out of the classroom Conall went over to Diane. "Are you alright? Do you need help with anything?"

"No," she said, shrugging him off. "Just a headache. It's gone now."

Next was Charms & Transfiguration, a class that alternated day to day. The professor was teaching techniques for casting transfiguration spells at a significant distance. It was rather boring to him, as he'd been able to turn a small flock of speeding birds into an array of flying daggers since he was sixteen.

His next class was the biggest misnomer in the school: Crafts. In reality, it included aspects of Potions, Charms, Herbology, and Ancient Runes. Today they were painstakingly repairing a wheelbarrow full of broken bits of enchanted pottery. Making enchanted pottery was challenging enough, but repairing it was next to impossible. Unlike his first period class, which consisted of only higher levels, one Crafts class took people of all levels and was able to cater to everyone from first years to tenth years, as experience in this class just added up so that there was very little repetition from year to year.

In addition to a couple free periods (which were pointlessly short on half days) he also had Care of Magical Creatures (often abbreviated to "Creatures"), English (the only required course common to muggles that he had opted to take beyond the bare minimum needed to graduate), and Defense Against the Dark Arts (typically referred to as DADA). Since half days ended with lunch, that's what he did next.

He was eating with Matt, whom he'd been friends with for years and had been paired up with for two-on-two dueling in their last class. "That was incredibly easy," laughed Matt. "You'd think those poor Hufflepuffs would've known something other than Stupefy." Just then a tall and skinny ninth year boy by the name of Jones came and sat next to them.

"You guys are staying on the Quidditch team this year, right? Not defecting to Quadpot like those other sorry excuses for Gryffindors?"

"Of course," said Matt. "At least, assuming I'm no longer gonna be replacement Seeker. Haven't seen old what's-his-name yet, so I guess he really did drop out after last year."

"That's what I heard," Jones replied. "What about you, Conall? Your strategizing has got a chance of making you captain when I leave, as long as you stick with the team. It's been a while since any of the teams have had a Beater for a captain."

"As exhausted and miserable as I am after each practice? Yes. I'll probably regret it, but yes."

"That's what I like to hear! Leave you two to it then," he said, heading off towards his backup Keeper.

"What are you doing until dinner?" Matt asked. "I'm gonna go try out my new broom."

"I'll probably head to the library. You know, read a book, hang out; whatever."

"Ok man, see you later."

He hadn't been in the library very long at all when a little first year kid came up to him. "Hey, you're a Gryffindor prefect, right? That's what that badge means?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, looking up from the story he had been writing.

"Cool. I'm supposed to do this essay for History of Magic, but my parents are muggles and I don't really know how many years of school are needed here, much less compared to England. Could you help me out?"

"Sure. Britain's system is actually simpler; there are seven years, and all seven are required. Here there are ten, but only six are required. Most people take seven though, and a decent number take eight. Only a few stay for nine and ten though. They have a higher level too, but only the very best are allowed to take it. Those post-graduates even teach a class or two, and sometimes they have their own dorm."

"Thank you so much," said the kid, going back to a couple of other first years at another table.

Conall sat there for a moment thinking. How many years would he take? This was the beginning of his eighth year, and he knew he was going to take at least one year after, so he'd probably go ahead and stay for a tenth. But what about after that? With ten years under his belt he would be eligible for almost any job he could hope to have. He wanted to be an author, but that doesn't bring in any money until a few books are finished. Maybe he'd stay on after his tenth year, though his great skill in a wide variety of magic made a job as an auror rather appealing, except for the inherent plausible inconvenience of dismemberment.

After a few minutes he resumed writing. Eventually he found that he didn't remember the date of a historic duel he was alluding to, and subsequently got lost in reading a fascinating book he had originally only meant to skim for a few details. At least he didn't have any homework yet, which was a nice perk for students that had already passed their NEWTs. After several hours his stomach reminded him that dinner would be starting soon. Remembering that there was a brief meeting for prefects he should have been at five minutes ago, he sprinted off down the hallway.

When he got to the prefects' lounge he realized that he wasn't the only one who was late. Apparently a Boggart hiding in a suit of armor had caused a bit of a mess in another hallway. Finally deputy headmaster Erikson and a couple prefects that had been with him arrived from the scene, and it seemed that everyone was there. The head boy and girl were twins, both Hufflepuffs in their tenth year. All the Gryffindors wanted Conall to be head boy next year, and Diane, the other Gryffindor prefect, was herself a favorite for head girl when the twins graduated. The Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff prefects were there too, as well the four Quidditch captains.

"Alright," began the deputy headmaster, "we're running late and almost everyone knows the routine, so let's get this done with." After he gave each of them their common room password on a slip of paper that vanished after being read, he said, "Ok, now if this is your first time in this position, stay seated. Everyone else, scram. Oh, and one reminder: remember to follow the rules for the prefect's bathroom. We had fifty-two infractions last semester alone! Now you newbies stay here while the rest of you go eat dinner or something." Deputy headmaster Erikson was more fun than the stiff-necked geezer that they had two years ago, who was thankfully retired now.

"Hey Diane," Conall said as they made their way to the Gryffindor table, "I was wondering if we could talk later."

"About what?" she asked curtly.

"About... that thing that happened between us. I just-"

"What's there to talk about? It doesn't really matter anymore." Before he could respond, she slipped onto the bench between a couple friends. The crowd pushed Conall all the way down to the other end of the table.

Why was it that she always blew him off when he tried to talk to her? It was infuriating. She started avoiding him during the last month of their fifth year. At first he'd had no idea what it was about, but eventually learned that it was because she thought he liked her, as in liked her more than just as a friend. The thought had seemed completely ludicrous at the time, as that possibility had never before even crossed his mind.

At the start of their sixth year he had planned to tell her that he didn't think of her that way, but as the year began, he gradually realized that he actually did, which had really surprised him. One day he finally got a chance to talk to her, and he was honest with her: he had never felt that way towards her before, but now he wasn't so sure. He would never forget her response. "I'm flattered, really, but I just don't feel the same way." It made him sick to think about it now, because after that conversation with her things got really bad. She was carefully avoiding him, and he had started to do the same. That had been particularly hard on him and, he thought, her as well. Practically every single one of their friends and interests were shared, and to top it off, Thomas, his best friend, had started dating her best friend.

He had been miserable all that year, though very few people could tell by looking at him. One day he hated her with every fiber of his being, and the next day every fiber of his being yearned to be with her. It got so bad that in a single hour he could alternate three times between the extremes of wanting to kill her and wanting to give his life for her! It had felt like his mind was about to break.

The bi-polarity had ceased last year, and he had been constantly depressed. It seemed like she was slowly getting less uncomfortable around him, but it was clear that unless something happened, it would never be anywhere close to the way it was before. Not knowing what else to do, he took the drastic step of asking her to the biannual Yule Ball. She flatly refused, and it became that she would do anything so as to avoid contact with him.

At the end of third quarter last year they had gotten into an incredibly heated argument. He couldn't remember all of what he said, but one thing he did remember was something that he had been thinking for a while now: _"You coward! You saw that there was something between us long before I did, and you ran and hid. More than anything I've just wanted for us to be friends again. But you're too scared to face the truth! How can you call yourself a Gryffindor? It's a disgrace!"_

She had been equally angry, but she never bothered to say why, and though he tried as hard as he could, he was never able to figure it out. Sure, he wasn't perfect, but he was willing to do anything to fix their relationship. He had considered a love potion, but he cared about her too much to go about things like that, even though he knew a resolution would benefit them both. Now... now he just missed her; more than he had ever missed anything or anyone in his life. He knew it wasn't just some crush, because he'd gone through that phase with another girl in their year already. This was different, because he knew her really well. He had found a love for her that far transcended any kind of passion. All he had to do was convince her that it was nothing less than complete and pure. Not the kind of opportunity that comes waltzing around every other day.

"Eh? You alright?" Thomas asked, tapping him on the shoulder. "It's time to go." He realized that he had fallen into a dead stare and shook himself back to reality.

"I'm fine, I guess. I mean... oh, you know."

"Oh, yeah..." They made their way to the Gryffindor common room. Conall's mind was taken off of things for a few hours as everyone talked and laughed. They played wizard chess, exploding snap, gobstones, and a game kind of like tag, except by enchanting chairs to levitate and chase each other around the room. He and his friends were getting ready to go to bed when they noticed several first years collapsed on the floor, asleep. They showed them to their rooms and finally headed up to the tower where some of the older students slept. The seventh and eighth years were all on one floor.

The architecture was quite interesting. The circular tower had a circular landing on each floor with a spiral staircase winding up the center. Each floor had four bedrooms. Going clockwise there were the older boys, older girls, younger girls, and younger boys. The floor had three bathrooms; one between the two boys rooms, one between the two girls rooms, and an extra one between the older boys' and girls' rooms, as was the case on all five floors of each tower. The seventh and eighth years stumbled into their respective rooms. Conall, Thomas, Matt, Tim, and Brandon all literally fell onto their beds. There were surprisingly few Gryffindor boys in their year, while there were about twice as many eighth year girls, and a fair number of seventh years too. They continued to talk with the lights off until they fell asleep.

* * *

_He was back in the wand shop. The girl handed him the wand, and from that moment on he was never the same. He knew that usually wands chose wizards, but the feeling he had just seemed to be… _more_. The way the Indian man had said that the other wands had been _unable_ to choose him. When he held a few of them, it _had_ seemed like there was a connection, but he had never felt anything like when he first touched his own wand. Made of cedar and ebony, the wandmaker had told him. Fifteen inches and mildly springy; but the core! In the last two hundred years only sixteen people worldwide were known to have that core, making him the seventeenth._

When he awoke the next morning he glanced over at the wand lying at his bedside table. Maybe his personality wasn't the only reason his Patronus took the form that it did, considering his wand had a core of werewolf fur.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days went smoothly apart from the general chaos that always comes when falling back into old routines. Transfiguration class was quite entertaining, and the rest of the day people were constantly finding themselves with a peg-leg. After classes on Wednesday everyone who had been on the Gryffindor quidditch team the previous year met in the changing room.

"Alright guys, we need to make sure none of you got rusty over the summer," Jones was saying. "I'll see all of you on the field in five minutes; in your uniforms."

"Hey Conall, do 'Scourgify' and 'Reparo' work on rotting clubs?" Tim, the other first string Beater asked.

"I wouldn't bet on it, but it's worth a shot. Have you even found them yet though? It seems like they move themselves every summer."

"One second. Accio bats!" Banging noises started coming from a dilapidated cabinet in the corner, which fell over. "Yep, found 'em. That spell doesn't work on people, does it? Because I only see one of our backup Beaters."

"Defected to Quadpot," Jones muttered. "We're gonna have find you another backup. Maybe two, considering the Beater injury rate. Hurry up; got to start in less than a minute," he said, heading off towards the field.

"Ugh, when should I tell him about my sprained wrist?" Tim whispered to Conall.

"Your sprained what?" Conall whispered back furiously. "When did that happen? Why didn't you get it fixed?"

"I tried to heal it myself. Screwed up. Now it's got to heal more or less naturally. Not going to be able to play half as well. My right arm can still hit, but it's really inaccurate. Come on, Jones'll be pissed enough as is when he finds out..." Broom in one hand, mostly intact club in the other, they headed out onto the field.

"First string on your brooms," Jones shouted. "Let's see who we still have. Gary, Diane, Tim, Conall... we need another Chaser and a Seeker. All right, we'll go through some drills and then see if anyone is ready for a promotion. You know what to do; let's start with a relay race." They zoomed around for a few minutes before proceeding to a variety of other drills. "Is that a new broom, Matt?" Jones asked approvingly.

"You bet. I spent all summer doing odd jobs for this baby. The Phantom Seeker, Mark II. Seems to handle pretty much the same so far."

"Great. I would have gotten the Scarlet Hawk or Scarlet Falcon if I were you though. Then again, the Phantom Seeker was designed with Seekers in mind, so it should be fine. Go ahead and release the snitch so we can see what it does." Matt raced excitedly towards the chest containing the balls.

Conall, Tim, and their remaining backup Beater were flying in a triangle formation, hitting a Bludger back and forth. "Heads up," Tim shouted, smashing the black ball towards Conall. It missed spectacularly. Conall almost fell off his broom diving for it, and it knocked the Quaffle right out of Austin's hand.

"Yeowch, what's up with that?" Austin asked indignantly.

"Careful Tim," Jones warned, helping Conall steady his broom. "I think you should stick with your left hand, lefty."

"I can't," he replied. "I hurt it this summer."

"You did what?!" Jones raged. "Are you sure? Did you see the nurse?"

"Yeah," Tim muttered. "She said it'd be two or three more weeks until it's safe for me to hit with it again." They were right about Jones not being happy.

"You!" Jones shouted, pointing at the backup Beater. "Have you been practicing?"

"Um, a little," he said meekly.

"Ugh," Jones groaned angrily. "Fall in team!" Everyone came flying back to the center of the field and dismounted. "I'm going to have to spend extra time recruiting, so we'll move on. I need all Chasers and Seekers here right now. Matthew, you were probably good enough to have been first string last year, and since this is your fourth year on the team, I'm making you head Seeker." He picked up the Quaffle and continued. "Diane and Gary, I want you to watch and help me decide which of these two would be a better first string Chaser. You'll have a scrimmage and a shoot-off. You will be captains for opposing teams." Turning to Tim he said, "You and Matt can referee the match."

Austin ended up winning both the match and the shoot-off by a wide margin, and therefore got the spot. Back in the changing room they discussed what each of them would do during the open tryouts that Friday. After they showered they headed off to dinner, stomachs rumbling.

In Potions the next day they listened to a lecture on medieval alchemy and prepared ingredients for the Polyjuice potion they were going to start working on in a couple of days. "... And I have some good news and some bad news," their professor, Mr. Brewster, was saying. "The bad news is that you have, due tomorrow, a three page essay on why it is impossible to make the elixir of life without the philosopher's stone." The class groaned in unison.

"But no one alive can even create a philosopher's stone, and the last one in the world was destroyed almost twenty years ago," complained a Ravenclaw girl.

"That is true, but wizards across the globe have been working on it, and many alchemists speculate that one may be successfully recreated in as little as fifty years. It is, after all, the holy grail of alchemy. However, I believe there was some good news too, so please allow me to tell you. Tomorrow you will be spending the period making whatever you like. As I understand it, the potion shop in the town is willing to purchase potions from students if they are of sufficient quality. Last year one of the tenth years made a perfect batch of Felix Felicis that sold for over twenty galleons! Ah, there's the bell. Class dismissed."

"I'm so going for that," Becca said to Conall as they gathered their things. "What should I make? I'm thinking about one of those kinds of poisons that can't be cured with a bezoar. What about you?"

Conall grinned. "I think I have an idea."

Twenty-three hours later Conall was preparing the workspace he shared with Becca and Ariel, a Ravenclaw in his year.

"Ok, I'm going ahead with my bezoar-proof poison," said Becca, rubbing her hands together. "You?"

"I think I'll give that liquid luck a shot. If I mess it up, I can always change it to a Draught of Living Death," Ariel mused, opening her textbook.

"Well, I got this book from the restricted section in my free period," said Conall, placing a book titled Perilous Potions, Volume I on the table. "Page three... Amortentia," he said, dropping some honeysuckle into his cauldron.

"Ha! Good luck with that. It's way harder than either Polyjuice or Felix," Becca scoffed, adding some powdered rattlesnake rattle to her concoction.

Just ten minutes later two people fainted at the table next to them. The potion master waved his wand and brought the fumes from the two unconscious kids' cauldrons under control, as they seemed to be reacting together somehow. A Slytherin boy across the room had to grab on to a desk to keep from floating off the ground. "Be careful people," the professor called out. "No one has died in potions class for almost half a century, and I refuse to be the teacher of the next student who does!"

"Someone died in potions class?" Ariel squeaked, terrified. Becca quickly grabbed her hand to keep her from dropping too many newt tails in her so far untarnished lucky potion.

For over half an hour Conall kept working tirelessly on his Amortentia. He was afraid he had messed up at some point, but the moment he added the powdered unicorn horn and cherry tree sap he had been mixing in his mortar, he knew he was on the right track. Several of the girls in the room gasped and stared in his direction. His cauldron was letting off a very pleasant aroma that was still too faint to place. Almost there. "That's very good," Professor Brewster said approvingly. Some type of love potion I see? Those can be quite valuable."

A sprig of cinnamon, the root of a four-leaf clover, and a teaspoon of vanilla later he paused. What was the last ingredient again? The book was too faded, and he knew the professor wasn't going to be willing to answer questions now. It was something powdered… the talon of a bird. After thinking about it for two whole minutes, while steadily stirring the potion he decided it was either Jobberknoll or Phoenix. Drawing on everything he knew about each of them he made up his mind. But he didn't have any of it. "Professor, can I get a tiny bit of something from your cabinet?" he asked. The teacher gestured for him to go ahead. The bell would ring in less than five minutes, so he didn't take time to admire the fantastic array of ingredients. Coming back to his table he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, letting the tiny pinch of powder fall from in between his fingers. The faint smell from earlier suddenly became a thousand times more powerful. He could now make out the scent of chocolate and pizza, as well as the fainter scent of books and his grandmother's house. He had done it.

The professor clapped his hands together. "Time is up. Let's see what you've come up with!" He proceeded to walk around the room, commenting briefly on everyone's as he went. "Good, good, fair, good, um… solid, excellent, satisfactory... so far it seems like everybody who isn't fainted or floating, and you there with cauldron of rocks, has passed." He got to Conall's table last. "Wonderful, wonderful, and..." He paused and stared into Conall's cauldron, which had steam rising from it in a perfect spiral. "Extraordinary!" exclaimed the professor. "Most tenth year potions students have extreme difficulty making Amortentia, and this is perfect. I don't believe I could have made it any better myself. Twenty points to Gryffindor! Truly, I have had the privilege of teaching so few students as good as yourself that I could count them all on one hand. Or at least I could if I still had all five fingers," he added, examining his hand. "Last time I ever sub in Creatures class."

"Is there anything you can't do?" Matt asked when Conall told him about Potions later that day.

"Arithmancy?" Conall suggested with a laugh. "Actually, now that you mention it, I'm quite good at that. I just hate doing it for some reason."

That Friday they had Quidditch tryouts. Jones was sick, but dismemberment wouldn't have even kept him away. Since he had trouble speaking above a whisper, and since Conall had the loudest voice, he was the one telling everyone what to do.

"Alright, we're looking for two Chasers, two Beaters, and a Seeker. The first string players will be running you through some tests, and if they think you have any potential you will face a couple more tests. The current second string players will be helping out or getting you out of the way." He glanced at Jones, who nodded. He continued. "Chasers go with Gary, Diane, and Austin. Beaters go with Tim. Seekers go with Matt."

"One question," asked Brandon. "What if you're trying out for all three available positions?"

"Then don't try out for all three available," Conall answered sarcastically. "Wait a second, aren't you on the Quadpot team?"

"I'm too good at it already, so I thought I'd try Quidditch," he said smugly. Conall rolled his eyes.

"Finally someone ditches Quadpot for Quidditch," Jones rejoiced in a hoarse whisper."

"Can I at least try out for Beater and Chaser?" Brandon asked. Jones nodded.

Over an hour later the hopefuls dispersed, with the instructions to come to practice after lunch the next day if their name was on the roster that would be posted in the common room the next morning. The team headed to the changing room to discuss whom to choose, though the decision ultimately lay with Jones.

"Between us, you did good enough at both Beater and Chaser," Conall was telling Brandon as they were going to bed that night. "I have a feeling you're gonna be Beater though, since there were a good number of decent choices for Chaser. Plus we wont have Tim for our first game against Slytherin next week, and you were easily the best Beater trying out."

* * *

"Legilimens," Conall enunciated clearly. Diane kept him out. They had been trying to break into each other for a quarter of an hour now, but had always been thwarted by the defender. Nothing but tiny glimpses of unimportant things had been seen by either of them. He stared her in the eyes as she tried to break into his mind. A glimpse of them laughing and eating lunch together in their fourth year. Then nothing. He took another turn. He saw the excitement when her little sister had just gotten her owl. Then nothing. A glimpse of his cat. A glimpse of her getting bitten by a pixie.

They were both getting desperate, as neither had gleaned anything of substance. She tried again. The sorting hat was on his head. "You have potential for Slytherin, but your mind is sharp like a Ravenclaw. Much more of a Ravenclaw than a Slytherin for sure. I don't see much Hufflepuff in you, but are you brave? Hmm, your greatest value is chivalry I see, the traditional kind. Godric Gryffindor prized nothing more, so... Gryffindor!"

He vigorously shoved her out. House sorting was considered one of the most personal things to any Hogwarts student, and most people never relayed to anyone what the hat had said to them. She had a smug look of superiority on her face. This was war.

Pointing his wand at her he yelled, "Legilimens." He forced his mind through the barrier around hers, shattering it. It was like seeing a bunch of windows, and getting to take his pick. He could see everything she thought the day she got her letter. He could feel everything she had the day she made the Quidditch team. It wasn't enough though; he wanted something more. Suddenly he could see her at Alivan's getting a wand of aspen and maple, with a dual core of Phoenix feather and Billywig stinger. He felt the wand in her hand and knew how it made her feel the first time she waved it.

With a great heave she forced him out of her thoughts, causing both of them to stumble backwards. She glared at him in horror. "How did you...? But when I..." They both mentally lunged towards each other again at the same time. Neither of knew what they saw; just raw emotion. They raised their wands and pointed them at each other. It looked as if they were going to burst into a full-fledged duel at any moment.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mr. Mentalis exclaimed, forcing them apart with a shield charm. "Calm down you two," he said. The moment he lifted the shield charm they each tried to cast at the other. "Hey!" he shouted at them. "Expelliarmus." Both of their wands went flying. They sparked upon making contact as he caught them, and he quickly set them down out of their reach. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor. Now sit!" he ordered, suddenly becoming a very authoritative figure. They sat on opposite ends of the room, and neither spoke for the rest of the period.

The moment the bell rang he shot each of them a look that told them that they ought to stay put. Once everyone else had left he ordered them into his office. He motioned for each of them to take a seat in front of his desk, which they reluctantly did. Taking a seat behind his desk, he stared them both in the eyes. It was hard to judge just how much he was able to read.

"It appears that I may have trained the two of you a bit to well," he said sadly. "No, I've had others take my class twice, even three times, and yet there seems to be something in each of you, between you even, that I have never seen before. Each of you have a double core wand containing Phoenix feather, am I right?" They both nodded. He closed his eyes for a minute, thinking, then sighed and let his frown fall. "Gryffindor has a game against Slytherin this Saturday, and I hope that you two will be able to cooperate. Here are your wands back. You may leave."


End file.
